“Price,” cried de Proballe, with another sneer. “Price! Honour rather, you mean. The Duke de Rochelle is all but of the Royal blood; and better men than you will ever be have been glad to pay no more for their careers than mere marital complaisance.”
“By God!” exclaimed Gerard, his voice vibrating with feeling as he realized now the full infamy of the plot and the degradation of the part cast for him; then catching de Proballe’s eyes fixed on him, he forced down his rage, and said coolly: “You are right, monsieur; Gerard de Cobalt cannot afford to be particular. He has that pardon to gain.”
“Now perhaps you understand the harm you did in saving that meddler’s life.”
“I see now that if I had had all these thoughts in my mind I would have acted differently.”
“You will see the Duke to-day, and will find him in a gracious mood.”
“It is not the reputation he bears. They call him the Tiger, I hear.”
“His enemies do; those who seek to thwart him. He saw Gabrielle to-day, and what passed between them pleased him greatly. She urged him to relax the rigour of his rule here; and he half consented. His plan is that he and she shall take frequent counsel together for the government of the people—when she is your wife. He will thus see much of her in many a private conference, and the people will have cause to bless her name for her good influence. Some of the blessings may come your way, Gerard, for the good change will date from the time of your marriage. You will be a popular man in Morvaix.” He ended with another of his dry cynical laughs, and looked for his companion to join in.
But Gerard was too deeply moved even to simulate laughter.
“There is yet one thing that perplexes me—has perplexed me from the first. What is your part in this? Raouf did not paint you exactly as a type of self-denial, willing to stand aloof when others were reaping rich gains.”
“My plans, like my reasons, are my own,” returned de Proballe, with a frown. “You shall know them all in time.”